


(i think i'm catching feelings)

by eravvi



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, M/M, Slow Build, also implied trans girl pidge and implied alforan :)), i didn't think it'd be this long ??, minor homophobia at one point!!, the first 4000 words are lance 'hating' keith btw, there's a lot of friendship v little ship, where are shiro and allura? probably off pining or actually getting work done who knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 17:09:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9394976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eravvi/pseuds/eravvi
Summary: in which lance is always, always breaking but he has the best of friends(season 1 mostly canon-compliant fic but w/ mostly made up parts and a few others)rated teen solely for swearing lmao





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the last half of this listening to either Moana or we are number one memes and seth everman and boi does it show
> 
> title is from the song sex by eden btw it's hella good but def not related to this fic lmao

It’s only been a week since starting at the Garrison, but Lance has already been beaten to the title of best pilot.

This is the dream he’s been waiting for, the dream he’s been wanting to live for his whole life, the dream he worked so hard to make reality.

But no, the title belongs to some guy called Keith Gyneog-Kogane. Lance knows nothing about this “Keith”, besides that the guy was a) around his age, b) stuck with a rather shitty name (who the hell was names their kid Keith??), and most terrifyingly, c) nicknamed “the most successfully daring fighter pilot of the century”.

Which essentially boils down to _best pilot, top of the class,_ and-

- _your competition_.

Whatever, Lance thinks. It won’t be long before he can beat whatever Keith’s done. He didn’t come here to be a mediocre flying student who might ship a few boxes around. No, he’s here to change history.

Of course, this spiel has to be interrupted-it’s Hunk, his roommate. Despite how much Lance has gone through to be at the Garrison, it’s still a prestigious hellhole filled with unfamiliar faces, and Hunk is the only one who’s showed any interest in friendship and while it’s not exactly surprising that people are snobby brats (the tuition price almost sent his ma’s heart rate flying)–

“Lance,” Hunk repeats. There’s very few people Lance can feel this at ease with-it’s mostly just his family-but Hunk is different. Already, their dorm is covered in memes. It helps that they won’t end up competitors, either, as the Samoan teen isn’t training to be a pilot.

“You asked about Keith, right? Well, as I’m not a pilot, I don’t know much–“

“And yet I am and you know more than I do?”

“Maybe you’re socially inept,” Hunk says wisely. Lance finds himself nodding before he can process the words and yell. Between laughs, Hunk adds that Keith has been at the Garrison since he’s been thirteen, and has only done the flying simulation once.

“Wow Hunk, you’re a genius.”

“I know.”

Lance feels another surge of laughs coming until he thinks back on what Hunk’s just said.

_Wait._

_T h i r t e e n?!?_

“Impossible,” Lance whispers. The word catches on his mouth, like it fits without knowing anything else about this boy.

“What?”

“You have to be fifteen to enter the Garrison, don’t you? I should know, they gave me hell on applications because my birthday was so close to the day we had to turn in the forms. I had to write extra acceptance essays and everything.”

Keith must have talent then, or the incredible ability to write essays. (Lance can’t bring himself to believe it was the latter.) Entering the pilot program wasn’t easy–after being narrowed down by essay, about a hundred people would undergo mental tests, simple physical requirements, exams, and at the very end, a flight simulation. Whatever Keith had shown them must have been really off the charts. At thirteen.

While Lance had been figuring out how to best smudge eyeliner and dye streaks into his hair, Keith had been accepted into the most elite school in the nation, possibly the world.

“Takashi Shirogane was accepted at fourteen,” Hunk points out after a little deliberation.

“Shiro is a fucking god among men, and he turned fifteen a couple weeks later anyways,” Lance huffs.

Hunk shrugs and just adds that Lance has three minutes to get to his next class.

“Shit.”

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Ha, bi the way–“

“I can’t believe I’ve known you for two weeks and I’ve already been subjected to at least five bisexual puns.”

Lance dabs–mostly ironically–and runs to his next class just as the bell rings. _I’m going to be fine. Professor Gobraless will understand better than anyone._ He’s halfway around his standard spiel of “sorry ma’am, I got lost” when he’s interrupted by–

“ _Do I look like a ‘ma’am’ to you._ ”

Lance just about says something about ‘ _don’t judge by appearances_ ’ and ‘ _there shouldn’t be a standard as to what people should look like_ ’ when he looks up and decides instantly it’s not worth it. For one, the man looking down on him is glaring with that single eye that reeks of that “ _I could twist your puny arms into pretzels if I wanted to_ ” look, with which Lance is very, very familiar with.

And secondly but probably more importantly, this man is Mr. Shiny Forehead himself, Commander Iverson. Otherwise known as Dickhead Supreme of the Galaxy.

Lance sorta-kinda-definetely doesn’t listen, just occasionally saying “yessir” or “I understand, it won’t happen again”.

After that tirade is finally over, Iverson barks that the following day, they’ll be assigning groups (cargo pilot or fighter, no in-between) depending on simulation scores. Lance is torn between thinking “time to die” and “I’m going to show that Keith kid who’s boss”, the latter being slightly less realistic.

Then the actual lesson begins, and while normally Lance is as close to a model student as can be (ADHD can suck a dick), his nerves, coupled with the topic of “why we need to be friendly with aliens that have yet to do anything with us and have shown no solid signs of existence” really sets him off.

He lasts about one minute before he gives in to the urge to do something. He leans over the guy sitting next to him, who sports a rather unfortunate mullet. Other than that, he’s really not that bad looking. If you can get over the hair. “So. Aliens. Load of bs, if you’re asking me.”

“Not really,” the boy replies. “And I didn’t ask.”

Oh, okay. Savage.

It doesn’t help that Lance genuinely took a while to “properly talk to people”. It doesn’t help that Lance has always either come off as too rude, too energetic, too reserved, too sensitive. He makes jokes that nobody laughs at. He has to judge and think everything he says before he says it, if he can.

And Lance had been sure that this one, tiny, starting statement, had been the perfect introduction to this weird kid. Pretend punk, with his long black hair and cropped jacket, bare fingers curled into a solid fist. Lance thought that line would’ve, should’ve worked perfectly.

Defeated, Lance decides on another route. Maybe it’s just the nerves. “Ready for the simulations?”

“ _What do you want?_ ” The guy hisses.

There’s a storm brewing inside of him, Lance realizes, and its best left untouched. Call him a coward or whatever, but there’s nothing shameful about self-preservation from something that doesn’t have a noble solution. (That also ends with Lance keeping all of his limbs, of course.)

Gobraless looks towards the back where Lance suffers. “Lance, you know that I usually let your side conversations slip by-“

He has to snigger at that, no matter how many bisexual puns he makes. It doesn’t help his case, however.

“Lance.”

“Sorry, ma’am.”

A couple of good-natured students (ie. Not This _Jackass_ sitting next to him) spin around to face him.

“Man, you really ticked off Gobraless this time,” sniggers one girl, flipping her purple-streaked blonde hair.

Lance points to the map of the galaxy and spits as coolly as he can, “Show me where I asked, _Kayleighanne_.”

“Yeah, well, the instructor sure as hell isn’t going braless for you anymore; we all know you were playing favorites with her,” she croons. As she adjusts her vibrant faux leather jacket (what a fucking mess) she adds, “The names ‘Kay’, you fuckboy.”

“Whatever you say, _Kay_. Hey, nice shoelaces you got around your neck; think they belong on your shoes, though,” Lance bites back.

Kayleighanne (seriously, what a shitty name) reaches for her choker, which rests stark black against a definitely powdered neck. _Have fun in your emo phase_ , Lance thinks, grimacing a bit. He can still hear Sophia singing “ _sad, salty Lance_ ” as she helped bleach his hair. (A mistake-both the hair and the helping were shit.)

As blonde-Raven-Dementia-Darkness turns back around, Lance glances at the seat next to him, only to remember that a brooding, probably-also-emo Mystery Mullet sits there. Surprisingly enough, the guy doesn’t scowl, just stares back with a strange curiosity. For the briefest second, Lance lets himself get caught in his eyes-they’re a weird shade of some color he can’t quite place-and then swivels his head away.

* * *

About twenty hours later, the roles are reversed. Lance watches Mystery Mullet, tracks his every move.

Except this time, Mystery Mullet has a name- _Keith Gyneog Kogane._

 _The ‘best pilot’ in the school has a mullet._ Still, Lance can’t pretend he’s not curious.

And then Keith takes off, and Lance realizes exactly how much further he has to go-Keith’s flying is absolutely unreal. There’s nothing fancy about it, no spins or flips, just the bare minimum to keep his ship flying while at the top speed. He flies faster, faster, faster, dodging shots and meteors by hairs and somehow never overshooting or underestimating the attacks.

There’s also the expression on his face, like he’s only just concentrating. It’s not a light, airy look-if anything, he slams the control panel with a little too much force-but it pulls his features into a more gentle tone, almost like he’s…

at ease.

It sends shivers down Lance’s spine, up his arms. He’s not close to Keith’s level, not yet. _I’ve got a cause,_ Lance reminds himself.

_I’m flying for my family._

(It occurs to him much later that maybe Keith is flying for his family, too.)

* * *

_Cargo pilot._ Equivalent to disappointment.

That night, Lance cries. He cries because he wasn’t good enough, because he wasn’t Keith, because his family spent all this money only for him to be some lousy cargo pilot.

“I hate him,” Lance whispers into the night. “I hate Keith.”

Hunk hugs him, lets the tears fall onto his arms like he didn’t mind collecting the ocean.

* * *

It wasn’t every day that Lance had to see Keith.

In fact, thanks to their assignments, they only have Gobraless’s class twice a week together, thank goodness. Lance migrates far, far away from Keith’s spot in the back of the room. He lets Mystery Mullet’s scowl replace the soft contemplative staring. He lets the bitter feeling of jealousy rise whenever he catches Keith’s flying being broadcasted on screens in the halls, his carefree face causing a wave of nausea.

Inside, Lance simmers.

* * *

“Why do you just let me cry, Hunk?”

“It’s good to get it out.”

“You could hand me tissues, but you just let me snot all over your jacket.”

“Reminds me that we’re all human, not machines.”

“Even Keith? Is he human?”

“Maybe especially him.”

“I hate him.”

A pause.

“I know, Lance.”

* * *

What Lance loves most about the ocean is that _if you’re going in, you’re going to have to find a balance._ The ocean is dark and terrifying, but if you don’t ask for too much, it can be yours.

(At least, it won’t swallow you up, because owning the ocean is an impossible feat, like bottling storms or catching the wind.)

Maybe this time, Lance has asked for too much. Maybe it’s too much to get into the world’s best flight school and become a fighter pilot. Maybe it’s impossible to avoid Keith’s shadow, which loops people in and never lets go.

Maybe there is another ocean that goes by the name Jealousy, and it will not settle for balance.

* * *

Lance doesn’t believe it the first time he hears it- _Shiro makes pilot error, mission is lost._

He never met Takashi Shirogane. Only heard of him. Only sees the aftermath of everything he does.

Keith, for some reason, is the most affected of them all.

Maybe they were close. Lance saw them sitting together one or two times. Keith looked like he did while flying-free, more relaxed. It reminded Lance of his family.

Keith has become explosive in the poorly-phrased announcement of Shiro’s death.

What Lance noticed but failed to realize is that Keith’s storm is unstable. He’s gone supernova-the death of a star without actually dying. Keith won’t brood and sit around anymore. He’ll lash out, and nobody knows when.

* * *

The first time someone suggests that Lance and Keith could be a couple is not only an insult, but also the time Keith gets thrown out.

It’s been a year since Lance drowned in his own feelings. His abuelita actually frowns when Lance doesn’t yell at his cousins for mocking his arms. His parents wonder if they need to back off on the ADHD medication. Kayleighanne, that bitch, re-nicknames him “the Trailer”. Hunk sends him videos of cute dog things, although that’s to be expected of Hunk.

But hey, it’s okay. Keith looks _way worse._

He’s always on edge now, eager to start fights, ready to glare at anyone who talks about “pilot error”.

Lance doesn’t worry about his head getting bitten off, though, because hey, Keith has entirely ignored his existence in the past few months, why stop now? He makes an off-hand comment in Gobraless’s class, about how it really is a shame that Shiro is gone-a great pilot and a beautiful specimen, just gone.

The universe must fucking hate him, though, because _Iverson_ , who usually doesn’t give two shits about what anyone has to say, turns around and glares at Lance.

“Queers don’t fly well in space, _cadet,_ ” hisses Iverson and Lance wants to die and _dois mio_ why is Hunk not in this class to talk him away from bad ideas.

_You can do this. You can face a lecture without crying. Your Ma once yelled at you for maybe two hours because of the bleached hair-_

_-_ and _oh,_ he misses her, he misses his family with a pang so sharp it could be matched by the glare Keith has on now, aimed for Iverson and cutting straight through Lance.

He’s not subtle at all, and Iverson catches him at once.

“Ah, the star pilot, Keith Gyneog-Kogane,” Iverson snarls.

Lance watches as Keith slowly becomes alive, more so than he’s seen in weeks. He stands up deliberately, as though-

-as though he wants a fight.

In that moment, Lance realizes three things-

  1. Keith was never going for subtle
  2. All the fights he’d picked were to get Iverson’s attention because
  3. _Keith wants to fight Iverson_



It’s the stupidest idea in the world but it’s also brilliant, because who doesn’t want to fight Iverson? And if Lance could bet on any one person to fight the motherfucking commander, it’s Keith.

“Oh, that’s right, don’t think I forgot all the little ‘additional information’ notes,” Iverson laughs bitterly. Lance knows that no matter what happens, Keith will end up getting kicked out. Keith Gyneog-Kogane, who has been the top of class for a full year, _gone._

“It’s such a shame, that you could be one of the best pilots in the world but instead, you’ll probably choose to suck a dick instead. You’ll be too weak to really fly in space-in fact, I heard that Shirogane-“

Whatever Iverson wants to add is lost- the first fist flies. There’s a sort of uncontainable explosion about Keith, not unlike his flying-and while Iverson tries to catch the punch, he’s no match for Keith’s raw energy.

There’s no one who can beat Keith, he’s the impossible.

Unlike his previous fights, where Keith played defensive, he holds nothing back here-nobody dares to chant “ _fight”_ but the class watches all the same, lecture abandoned.

Keith actually has a chance-Iverson is busy spitting insults to put full effort into blocking all the blows.

The taunts seem to mean very little-if they do at all-to Keith, despite how wretchedly personal they are. Lance recognizes strength in yet another form, one that he knows he’s weak in.

_Orphan. Homo. Unwanted._

Does Keith feel at all?

“It should be impossible to be so fucked up, yet here you are,” Iverson snarls, his broken and bloody nose twisting in strange directions. “And don’t think I don’t see you snooping around on the computers-the internet can’t teach you the best way to suck dick, although maybe this cargo pilot here will let you practice.”

While Keith simply bristles, Lance can’t help but feel personally attacked, because _what the fuck?_ He’s really hoping Keith wins now, especially since his four-days-without-crying streak is _strongly predicted_ to change tonight.

The two circle for what seems like forever, occasionally ducking or throwing punches but neither with the advantage. After Iverson punches once again, Keith ducks under his arm, brushing past Lance and hissing, “If you’re smart, you’d _run_ ”, leaving him with maybe two seconds to _get the fuck out of the way_ before Keith body-slams Iverson, collapsing them onto a couple of desks.

The dark-haired teen doesn’t miss a single beat; his collision is like a meteor impact, uncontrollable and unavoidable, but he still rushes back up, sprinting out of the door.

Lance feels sick as he notices the thin spots of blood following Keith. As the boy leaves, he doesn’t look back. All Lance can see is a glimpse of Keith’s running form, recognizing the glint in his storm eyes to be satisfaction.

* * *

Unlike the other fourteen students who witnessed the fight, Lance doesn’t sell out the story of Keith’s escape/expelling. People ask him about it. A mystery number Lance knows belongs to the “gossip girl” of the Garrison texts him about his view.

Lance leaves them on read.

Lance keeps quiet because he owes Keith.

When Keith left, there was one spot open for a fighter pilot. That spot went to Lance.

There’s also Pidge, who can’t be a day over thirteen, but already seems standoffish and cold-a mirror image of Keith. Pidge isn’t distant because of an effort to be emo; no, something eats away at Pidge, who forced a way into the Garrison. There’s definitely hacking involved, and Lance makes a vow that whatever this kid wants, Lance will try to work with. He doesn’t need another reminder of Keith.

* * *

His first fighter simulation is supposed to be relatively simple-just getting used to landing on planets with different gravitational pulls-but apparently the universe cannot spare Lance a single day without bullshit.

Everything’s going pretty smoothly until Lance a) turns around and b) asks Pidge some icebreakers.

(Hey, can he really be blamed for trying to make a friend? Hunk is incredible but has too much shit on Lance.)

“So, uh, age?”

“I’ll be fourteen in three months. Also, hasn’t anyone every told you to keep your eyes on the road?”

“Thirteen, got it.”

Pidge bristles a bit, while Hunk just says, “ _Lance_ ” condescendingly.

“Second, what brings you to the Garrison?” Lance continues.

“Same as you,” Pidge replies blandly.

“Oh, a thirst to become known as the greatest and beat a guy you’ve talked to once?” Lance spits, a little frustrated.

“No, I’m doing it for…for my family.” Pidge’s voice wavers, then catches and shies behind the wall of impassive confidence.

(Lance takes note of this and begins to form his own confidence, although Pidge’s seems more genuine while his is just a shield.)

“Third-I’ll make this the final one for today-what do you like to do? Besides hack the Garrison, of course.”

Pidge grins, breaking through the deadpan shield and perfectly mimics the Kazoo Kid Trap Remix.

Lance is so surprised he yells “FILTHY MEME” and crashes his first fighter pilot simulation.

He can take the damage to his self-esteem, though, and Iverson’s muttered, “ _What did I expect?”_ because on their way out Hunk whispers, “ _Dream Meme Team”_.

* * *

They do, in fact, become the Dream Meme Team.

Almost all the simulations end with that sign of failure, but since it isn’t exactly new, Lance memes his all.

Besides, Pidge and Hunk are like home away from home, the first friends he might call family one day.

Laughing with them is fun. Easy. They hold their heads high after crashes, and Lance starts to go nights without crying. Nights become weeks, and weeks become months.

It’s not just shits and giggles, either, that makes love his friends. No matter what, they stay together. On certain days, Pidge gets distant, bitter and short-tempered. Somedays, Hunk is quiet and less likely to laugh. Occasionally, Lance breaks through their stretched silences with tears and hate.

But they pull together, for each other. It’s with this team that Lance is able to keep his cool in a simulation of an actual fight, be able to think about Keith without jealously stabbing his mind and pricking his eyes,

be able to imitate Keith almost exactly, and land the simulation without crashing.

It’s not perfect, but it works and _dios mio,_ Lance is proud.

When Pidge turns fourteen, Hunk bakes a cake and Lance smears Shrek green frosting on it. Writes memes out with peanut butter in a piping bag and sings, a little rusty from screaming funny tweets out loud but still full of love.

He’s very far down the road now, but Lance only now knows that he, too, has his own storm-a sea storm-inside of him, but unlike the last he saw of Keith’s, his has _quelled._

* * *

“Pidge, you’re the literal best, a kid genius-how’d you set up a Skype call and get through the Garrison’s hack block?”

While typing into Lance’s (smuggled in) laptop, Pidge just says that it’s not meant to keep kids out, but adults. Something about it sounds vaguely familiar-the week Pidge transferred, some girl had apparently broken into the Garrison, but Lance sweeps it aside for now. He’s grateful he got to talk to his family on his birthday, he won’t push it.

“You setting up a call with your family?” He asks.

A pause, then-

“Well I’ve got to find them first, don’t I?”

Cold determination crosses with a half-smile on Pidge’s face, so crooked and sad Lance isn’t sure what to make of it.

* * *

_“I hope I don’t need to remind you that the only reason you’re here is that the best pilot in your class had a discipline issue and flunked out!”_

Lance gets the message- _don’t be like Keith. Keith is not the example you want to follow._

But Keith doesn’t need a shield. He doesn’t seem to care what people think of him, much less what to say that’d best suit a person. Keith flies like hell chases him and like he’s chasing hell at the same time.

A twisted part of Lance knows that deep down, Keith is who he wants to be.

* * *

Lance has seen some whirlwind days-after all, he has six siblings-but _this_ is a whole new world of impossible.

Pidge has apparently been searching for aliens; and said aliens are _real_ , not to mention mostly human like and kind of hot; Takashi Shirogane is alive, despite supposedly being _dead_ ; and Keith’s here, flying them away from military-grade Garrison tanks.

If he hadn’t already just about lost his voice screaming, he would probably be screeching loud enough for his family to hear him in Cuba.

Oh, and Lance is _not_ going to ignore the fact that Keith doesn’t remember him, despite how petty that might seem. He’s been around Pidge so much he can just about hear what the gremlin would’ve said-“ _Lance, your bitterness if getting awfully close to pure cocao and ‘special dark’ looks like milk chocolate next to you”_ -although Lance is extraordinarily thankful Pidge knows nothing about Keith.

“Can’t this thing go any faster?” Lance yells, partially because he’s thinking about those nice Garrison people who wouldn’t hesitate to kick him out, and a bit because he wants to see if Keith can do _more_.

“We could toss off some non-essential weight,” Keith shouts in response, glaring back at him.

Lance just stares. Keith, making something akin to a _joke?_ Is this the same boy who punched Iverson?

(Although, thinking back, Keith was right about the whole ‘aliens are real’ thing, and okay, Keith just roasted him, but it was lowkey a joke, okay?)

After too many seconds, Lance realizes he needs to _pick up his fucking jaw_ and respond. He’s not particularly snotty with his response-there’s something about Keith that sets him _off._ At first, Lance thinks it might be those stupid fingerless gloves that Keith definitely wasn’t wearing last time, but whatever this flying contraption is does seem to be part motorcycle, and it’s such a trivial detail that he’s a bit embarrassed he noticed. So no, that’s not it.

Maybe it’s how Keith seems entirely in control, how he uses their added weight as an advantage rather than letting it slow him down. Even months after being kicked out, Keith is still better than anyone at the Garrison-a real natural.

Of course, that’s when Hunk, the voice of reason, shouts, “Um, guys, is th-that a cliff up ahead?” and Lance thinks, _Oh shit, oh shit, I’m going to die._

And Keith, true to his jackass nature, just says, “Yep,” and grins.

A second later, they’re falling, falling, falling.

Lance screams this time, sore throat ignored and forgotten, screeching his Maria’s favorite Spanish profanities. Pidge, the poor slight thing, shrieks, hand curled in Lance’s jacket in a gesture that happened to rely heavily on the middle finger, aimed at Keith’s back.

Keith glances back, his ridiculous mullet swept up by wind and yells, “Just shut up and trust me!”

There’s an edge of panic and a little concern underneath layers of frustration, and Lance thinks,

_Okay. I trust you._

He shuts his eyes against the dusty blue sky, somehow knowing that Keith won’t let him-them-fall, and lets himself fly. Suddenly, he understands why Keith might own such a strange contraption-the feeling tastes of freedom, an odd combination of recklessness and peace.

 _This_ is what it feels like, to be impossibly free. Lance cherishes the feeling, hoping it lasts longer than it needs to just because he never wants to forget this.

Keith pulls out of the dive and Lance keeps his eyes shut, even when he has a sneaking suspicion they just flipped.

 _You trust him because he’s the best pilot the Garrison has ever seen,_ Lance tells himself, although it doesn’t explain why he had to form that thought in the first place.

* * *

There’s a thrill in being the one to sit in the Blue Lion’s chair, the one to pilot this incredible beauty. Growing up with siblings he shared, a little reluctantly but still willingly, but this, _this is his._

He can feel the energy and imagines that this is what Keith meant, only stronger, more personal. As he glances over the controls, he starts to vaguely recognize everything-hours spent poured over manuals suggest that this is just some really upgraded versions of the Garrison’s best tech.

 _Not bad for some hidden cat robot, eh?_ Lance’s mouth still curves into his signature smirk, although every part of him is screeching _holyshitholyshitshitshitshit._

**_Watch your fucking language, kiddo. Elders around._ **

Resisting his screams only because he’s in the Worst Company-Hunk, who carries recording devices without fail; Pidge, who never forgets; Shiro, his fucking idol; and motherfucking _Keith_ -he struggles with the concept of an actual voice in his head that Is Not His.

In that moment, Lance swears he can hear the voice _say_ “ **;’’(** “ when-

**_I hear everything._ **

Great.

What’s the strangest-besides being inside a giant alien robot cat that seemingly talks back-is that only Lance seems to be affected. Not even Keith appears to hear the voice, despite being able to sense the energy of the lion or whatever.

**_That’s because you, Lance McClain, are the paladin I decided to choose. Now go. Lead the way._ **

It must be Hourly Bitter Depression Season, because how is Lance, a simple human, supposed to pilot _this_ when he can’t even handle a simulation? There’s something that looks vaguely like a script menu, but of course it’s in gibberish. And scarily of all-if he crashes, there’s no going back.

**_Lance._ **

**_I’ll guide you, but you already know what to do._ **

He wonders just how far from home he’ll go.

* * *

“Does Allura realize how much she’s asking for?” Lance whispers. His voice breaks, noticeably, but he doesn’t care anymore. If he’s going to spend the rest of his (probably short) lifetime out in space fighting an enemy who has managed to reign for 10,000 years, fuck it.

“Lance…she’s right,” says Shiro begrudgingly. “The Galrans are ruthless. Sooner or later they’ll go for Earth, as we still do have some variant of technology, although it’s nothing close to what’s out here.”

 _Your family could die if we don’t do this. Everyone you love. Everyone you know._ Shiro doesn’t say it, but the implied meaning is enough.

_Your family might never see you again but they’d be alive and safer._

And Lance decides that yes, it will be worth fighting for.

* * *

They’ve been here for maybe one week. Everyone’s said “goodnight” seven times with no intention of sleeping much. The days seem to both stretch on forever and last seconds.

Allura had offered to set a calendar showing Earth dates. A good idea in concept-all of Allura’s ideas were-but out of sentiment everyone except Keith denied, saying that no, they’d rather stick to their dissipating bio-clocks.

Lance counts the few nights he gets rest-once he was too excited to sleep after forming Voltron, but more often it was due to homesickness.

Tonight, it’s different.

Tonight, it’s because death has started to stain him.

_Galra. Remember that. The solider might have lived-you shot the arm, not anywhere fatal._

The soldier had died.

His new bedroom feels empty. Cold. Sure, he has his Altean robes and lion slippers, which the mice lead him to and he later snitched. Yes, he has his one cucumber he’s been cutting into thin slices for facials. And scattered on his drawer are a couple of face masks and some bottle of cleanser that Pidge had somehow knowingly brought along, bless.

But the few belongings can’t fill the void. At the Garrison, he roomed with Hunk, which lead to a very cluttered room. The beds were shitty and creaky and half the dorm’s decorations were orange. Back home, he shared a room with his twin brothers, and silence was unknown to the McClain household.

Here, everything’s pristine. The beds don’t budge and the sheets are plane. The lights are either on or off. The hallways, as Lance has discovered, are filled only with silent ghosts.

He passes the other paladins’ doors-laptop clicks from Pidge’s, soft snores from Hunk’s, the quiet hum and purple light that signals Shiro’s prosthetic arm, and eerily enough, Keith’s completely silent room.

Turning the corner, he’s unsure of where he’s going. Eventually, he stumbles upon a large, circular room with flickering holomaps on a platform in the center. There’s a dark silhouette as well, its form wide with hair/fur on the head.

Galra happened to have hair/fur on their faces, bunch of furries. Lance is two seconds away from screaming and alerting security when the figure lets out a sob.

With sudden recognition, Lance realizes it’s Coran.

_Coran._

“Alfor…why did you choose me? What good can I do for dear Allura? She’s already so strong, so much like you…”

 _Coran for sure_ , Lance decides. “Uhm, Coran? Is that you?”

“Argh! Lance!” Coran stumbles away from the center of the room-as he moves back, the holomaps swirl in front of him, some phasing out and others spinning like tops.

Lance spots one with the image of Earth, more beautiful than he remembered. With a heart-wrenching ache he remembers Venezuela Beach, his home, and resists the urge to scream. Anything. Any kind of contact, a short message for his family. He’d thought he was away when he left for the Garrison, too far from the softer sands and ocean winds. Now? He’s galaxies away, lost in space.

The room suddenly seems a lot colder.

Coran’s alert blue eyes take in his shivering and hands him a soft blue comforter, previously clutched with white knuckles. As Lance wraps himself with it, he’s suddenly aware of how it was made for a child. Gold stars and crowns, hand sewn with a strange, gold fabric. Lance’s throat goes dry.

“I…thank you, Coran,” he manages. “Was this… Allura’s?”

The Altean advisor laughs and sits down, explaining how Alfor had made it for his daughter, and Allura, upon her awakening, gave it to Coran because she believed it would bring him strength. “But it seems you need it more now,” he adds.

“Wouldn’t Allura mind if one of her paladins-“

“She may have strong opinions, but she is kind and reasonable,” Coran says gently, wrapping the blanket tighter. “Now, what are you doing here?”

Soon after, Lance is resting on the ground, pillows under his body and the Altean star blanket, watching planets soar overhead.

It’s not home, but it’s peace.

* * *

He still cries. Homesickness is uncurable, a terminal illness that seeps from him slowly and slowly, up till his ultimate death via sorrow.

“I don’t-don’t want them to hear me,” Lance whispers, choking on the words, wrapped in Hunk’s arms.

“It’s not a weakness to cry. Besides, we all miss our families.” The words are gentle, reassuring, yet-

“Keith doesn’t.”

Hunk frowns at him a little but doesn’t say anything, just lets Lance cry.

(Some part of his brain reminds him that Iverson called Keith an orphan.)

* * *

 

 

 

“Lance.”

Keith! That’s Keith’s voice. Something about Keith pricks at his thoughts, but thinking hurts, so Lance stops trying.

 

_We are a good team._

His own voice-but _why did he say that?_

 

 

His ears feel like being forced to wake up. Everything sounds fuzzy. There’s someone-two someones-talking, but everything sounds so

Distant.

It’s a little like being forced to lie awake, able to hear but not see, not move.

If this is death, it sucks. He can hear what sounds like Allura’s voice muttering something he can’t make out.

At one point Keith jokes about death, causing the other paladins to join in with horrific and hilarious wishes for death. That is, until Allura yells for quiet and says that she can’t mess up.

After everyone leaves, there’s silence for a very, very long time.

 

Then, somebody-two somebodies-talking. The two voices belong to Coran…

“No-it’s just-everyone’s asleep, Keith,” Coran says. _Keith?_

“Is it bad I’m trying to look out for a teammate?”

“Well-let’s just say that this is very unexpected-not that you’re not a good person, it’s just-you and Lance haven’t had the best of relationships.”

A pause. “You think I wouldn’t bother about him.”

“Keith, I wouldn’t…

Forgive me.”

“Coran, I’m here because it’s my fault if he…I would never be able to live past that.”

“He’ll pull through,” Coran says gently. “Besides…I thought I could protect Alfor, too. But we’re not perfect. If we can, we make our own choices. That’s why we fight against Zarkon.”

"I suppose."

* * *

_"You did well back there. If you die, you might become Voltron's one hit wonder. Whether you took the hit or shot it will be up for interpretation." Keith laughs while saying this, a strange and genuinely nice sound._

_"Pidge is rubbing off on you," Lance whispers. His voice is broken, not from sadness but from battle._

_"Pidge is bringing the best out of me."_

_“You think I’ll live this encounter?” jokes Lance. He’s injured. How, he’s not sure, but everything hurts._

_“I suppose,” says Keith, half-smiling down at him as he essentially drags/carries Lance away._

* * *

There's a hestancy with Keith, what with the 'bonding moment' hanging between them. Sure, their arguments are less of an actual product of anger and more like the ones he had with his siblings. Lance stops saying "I hate him" and wonders instead who Keith really is. And most importantly, the waves of envy soften to the point that he can shape it into a determination to become better.

Blue is easier to work with, not only due to Coran's trust exercises but also because he's no longer pushing all the time to beat Keith.

It's starting to look like they really could be the defenders of the universe.

Of course, it's not actually easy of all. He misses his family. He fears death. He grasps longingly for the image of Cuban beaches and his cousins not to fade away. But still, it's gotten better.

* * *

When Pidge announces herself as a girl, Lance is less surprised by the reveal-male pronouns always seemed to bother the kid-than by the fact that apparently, everybody else already knew. Shiro’s blatant favoritism must have given him some insider secrets, and Hunk did read her diary. Allura’s mice were probably a contributor-they snitched about him taking the slippers, which probably lead to Coran knowing.

But Keith? Apparently, behind Lance’s back, Keith and Pidge had become the “iconic gay friends”, according to Pidge.

“Pidge…why didn’t you just tell us at the Garrison?”

“They were looking for a girl. I had to become someone else-I didn’t have any hair dye to recolor my hair or colored contacts, and amber’s kind of a strange color-so I did the most sure thing I could get away with. After all, I have a family to save.”

Lance gives her a supportive laugh. “Pidge… you really are something.”

“Are you saying that because I’m a girl?”

“No, because you have no fucking clue where your dad and brother are and their conditions but here I am moping over my family, still safe according to Coran’s updates.”

Pidge just shrugs. “It doesn’t make you miss your family less.”

* * *

“Lance-I know this one’s…personal, but is there really a reason you hate Keith so much?” Hunk whispers. Pidge’s typing is extra loud tonight, masking their voices.

“I just… don’t get him, Hunk.”

“Doesn’t sound like a very Lance thing to do, hating people because they’re different.”

"I don't think I hate him anymore."

 

Keith's laugh rings in his head, impossibly clear.

* * *

 Some nights, when Lance can't bear to rob what little sleep Hunk gets, he walks around the castle. He's careful to avoid Coran's spot, and he once walked into Allura's room, awkwardly wrapped with her blanket. (She didn't mind though, and told him that the blanket would always cause better nights-an explanation for the calming ocean that appeared in his dreams.)

Lance always sleeps in those rooms, with the comfort of a pillow or two and the stars above. Some halls and rooms are terrifying, but there's a lot of places that are just...empty.

Tonight, Lance walks into a circular room and almost immediately backs out, until he notices that there's no control panel or Coran in the room. It's quite a nice room, really, with transparent walls and a ceiling cut like a jewel, giving way to a fragmented space sky.

He's about to set up his pillows when  _holy fuck_ that was a person standing a few feet away. Lance yells a few choice Spanish words that his father would be both proud and disappointed in.

"Lance?"

It's Keith's voice, Keith-not an alien, just Keith. Although of course, Keith had a penchant for the impossible. He eyes the pillows that have escaped Lance's stick arms and says, "Why are you here?"

"Is it really not allowed to walk around at night? Do you own this castle?" snaps Lance and instantly wishes he could take it back. For once, he just wants rest, not yelling and arguing. Still, it's absolutely infuriating knowing that Keith can manage to raise the jealousy storm out of him, make hate run through his blood.

Keith opens his mouth and Lance cuts across him, praying that it doesn't come off as rude but rather apologetic. "I just want to sleep tonight. Some rooms are just...better than the ones we were given, ya know?"

"No."

It's only now, in a room lit only by stars, nebulae, and galaxies that Lance realizes that Keith definitely hasn't gotten any rest. Eye bags, drooping shoulders, hair that is most certainly suffering withdraws. "Sorry, do you sleep?"

Keith stares at Lance and it reminds him of so many months ago in Gobraless's class, the same gaze of curiosity.

"Oh. Okay. Do you mind if I try to... uh...sleep? Here?"

"Do I own this castle?" Keith's tone is lighter now, like he might be smiling.

It's a bit awkward at first, grabbing his pillows and picking a spot in the dark. Keith steps over something at one point and Lance does the same, hoping to avoid whatever's there, but he ends up tripping and almost falling.

This, he thinks bitterly, is the point where he gets to hear the laugh again, because nothing's funnier than him, tripping on his face.

Except for whatever reason, Keith doesn't laugh, just picks up another stray pillow and helps set up the makeshift 'bed'.

Lance lays curled facing Keith, and the other boy just wraps his arms around his knees, looking out into the sky as though he's searching for something that he can't reach. In this moment, Lance can forget his jealousy, the nights spent whispering " _I hate him"_ in a mantra.

He doesn't speak, but neither does Keith, so he just waits for the silence and darkness to lull him into bright blue ocean dreams.

* * *

It becomes a thing, wandering into rooms and wondering if Keith will find him. Helps him sleep more, actually. Keith looks better, too-still those eyebags, but better posture. Slowly but surely, they begin to trust. Lance waves signals with his hands at Keith, making shadows they can communicate with. Keith opens doors and whispers "gotcha" in a sincerely happy way. It's a change Lance can embrace.

After a few short minutes of silent pillow fighting, Lance smooths the pillows into a large nest, which Keith steps in delicately. Lance whispers, "How'd you forget me?"

"I remember you. You dragged that one girl, Kayleighanne."

"Wow, you remember her name but not mine? And I thought you were gay?"

Keith scowls. "I am. Besides, what's it matter to you?"

"Keith...m'buddy...I'm bisexual."

"Oh."

Lance can feel his hands get sweaty and smothers them quickly in a nearby pillow.

"That does explain all the emphasis on  _by_ now. I should have known you'd make bad jokes more often than that."

"My sexuality puns are the best," Lance scoffs. "Still can't believe you remembered Kayleighanne's name but not mine."

"Would you ever forget such a shitty name and shittier jacket?"

"Take's one to know-Keith, don't throw a pillow at me, it's gonna ruin the nest!"

Keith sits back down, replacing the pillow and says, "I want dairy straight from a cow's udders."

"Aren't you lactose intolerant."

The black-haired teen stares directly at him. "That's the point, dude."

"Of course. Should have expected. Emo and you know it. Do you listen to MCR as well?"

"I was raised better than that-Shiro's my  _brother_ , do you know how many times I had to listen to him mostly ironically playing Bring Me to Life?"

"You skipped out on the emo phase? You're impossible."

And the rest of the night is spent like that, trading secrets about their siblings. Lance wants to hold the memory close to his heart and keep it eternally.

* * *

"Is it weird that-"

"You like Mothman so much? Yes. For sure. Without a doubt. It's straight up weird, Keith."

"-space sort of feels like home?" Keith stares out, as though if he looks hard enough he can find what he's searching for.

Lance blinks. "I mean, I guess? You didn't know your real family. What if you're part alien?"

"Sometimes, I regret Nest Nights," Keith says, smothering the laugh that's so much more common now.

"Oh, is that what we're calling them now? I thought it was just Bonding Moment #42 or something."

Keith snorts a little, his strange almost purple-y freckles made apparent by the moons' light outside. It makes Lance feel a little better about his own freckles, which he once tried so hard to get rid of.

In the following silence, he wonders if it's really been so many days that he's been gone. The ache for his family doesn't dull, just gets easier to push past. When he looks back at Keith, he realizes that the Red Paladin is sleeping-a sight he'd never seen before. On Nest Nights, the black-haired teen always seemed to either sleep after Lance did and wake up earlier or didn't at all.

But now, the fierce paladin is just a sleeping boy, his expression softer, his body relaxed. Lance would have imagined this impossible.

Then again, Lance would have imagined falling for him to be impossible as well.

**Author's Note:**

> i gave lance weak ass arms bc i have weak ass arms b o i  
> yeah that was a satisfied reference during the keith-iverson fite  
> originally I planned another chapter but SEASON TWO IS UPON US AND I HAD TO GET THIS OUT THERE
> 
> kudos and comments are def appreciated !!
> 
> If you wanna hmu my Tumblr is noctifire or astronyma and feel free to slide into my IG DMS @astronyma


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